Pacolet

It’s all over
– the red stilettos, roadtrips, bubble bath nights alone –
If she gives her life to him and his laundry and that cute little house
I’m sure they’ll soon have nestled at the edge of Pacolet,
Where she could yell from her kitchen window
And all her living relatives would hear.
She’ll devote her eyeliner years
To Tupperware and waiting up for her husband
Whose tires crunch the gravel later and later and later each evening,
While the warmth seeps from his steak and their bed
As the gallon of milk in the fridge slowly curdles.
Yet she’ll have pleasant cheeks and sunny hair.
The neighbors will like the way she trims the hedges
And she’ll put just enough sugar in the sweet tea.
But her heart will be small within her.
He’ll buy her towels for her birthday,
And the vacuum will break before company arrives.
There will be too many small shoes lurking under the couch.
She will realize
When the wedding dress hangs limp in her closet,
As Skittles melt into the dashboard of the van,
That dreams are tiny robin’s eggs
Which, held too tightly, burst.

-Jessica Miller, class of 2009

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